


Mean Fucking Bastard

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Intimidation, M/M, Piss kink, guess what? don't like don't read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 14:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16703899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: Set in the middle of Lieberman's interrogation. Frank finds a new way to torment him.





	Mean Fucking Bastard

There’s something that makes David blush.

It's something that Frank doesn’t understand. Something that doesn’t make sense when you’re ass-deep in the sands of Iraq or Afghanistan surrounded by fifty of your buddies. Something that makes little sense when you’re stuck underground trying to stay alive, despite the whole world wanting you dead.

David Lieberman is piss shy.

And okay, he’s not shy in that he takes a few seconds to start if Frank’s waiting for the urinal. He doesn’t stand a little wider and make his mind go blank like Frank’s seen some men do.

Fighting a war: you see the whole spectrum of manhood. The blatant, the secret and the downright disgusting. Having an issue with another dude standing a few feet away when you’re at your most vulnerable: this is something that Frank can understand. It’s embarrassing, sure, but it comes from a baser instinct and those are things that Marines have to learn to trust if they’re going to fight.

It’s not that David is shy. That he could handle - it would be nothing. It's the way David _reacts_ that gets to him.

He first notices it the day he properly introduces himself. Frank Castle, meet tied-up stalker slash NSA agent. He’s had men at his mercy before. Hell, Carson Wolf practically encouraged him to do this. It was a nice easy way of palming off prisoners to someone who knew how to make them talk, or beg. He knew he could rely on Frank Castle.

This time, though, it’s different. David has been targeting  _him,_ not the other way around, and so Frank amps up his act to bring in all of the worst intimidation tactics he knows.

Like he tells the guy, it’s not pain that gets you in the end. Not pain, fear, or hunger.

Time. That’s what they all come to realise, eventually: time is the most merciless prison officer of all.

Part of Frank’s tactic is not giving Lieberman any food or water, but the guy’s clearly been surviving on something down here and so it’s inevitable that he’ll need to use the can.

Part of Frank’s tactic is that there is no access to the can.

About four, five hours in, Lieberman is restless on his chair. He’s been dragged over twice to shut the alarm off now and he asked about the bathroom on the last try. Frank had just laughed and told him to get on with it, he’d already unbuttoned his fly for him, and span him around so Frank could spy on him from the chair in the makeshift bedroom.

Now Frank sits, pretends to read a book on mindfulness, and watches Lieberman twitch out of the corner of his eye.

About a half hour later, the guy has progressed to rubbing his legs together and breathing through his nose.

“I’d tell you to go,” Frank says, turning a page, “but the fancy merino wool carpet you put down last week wouldn’t like it too much.”

“Shut up,” Lieberman says. There is of course, nothing on the ground but cement.

“You piss shy, Lieberman?” Frank doesn’t bother looking up. He can tell from the creaks in the chair he’s getting to him. “You think it’d be gay to go in front of me, that it?"

Lieberman doesn’t answer, so Frank peers over the top of the book. He’s gone still in the way that says he really _has_  been holding it and it’s just near getting to that point of no return.

“Thaaat’s it,” Frank says, lowering his voice like it’ll comfort him. “Let it go. Let it out. It’s only you and me and the hours here, Lieberman, and nobody’s coming to save you."

“You’re a mean fucking bastard, you know that?” David laughs hollowly through his teeth and that makes him squirm again, so he shuts up. Instead, he starts trying to inch the chair towards the bathroom.

It’s pretty pathetic. The guy can’t move too much - not like he had back when the alarm first went off - or he really will piss himself, so he’s stuck doing tiny shuffles like a goddamn inchworm.

Frank turns the corner down on the page he’s reading and sets the book aside. He gets to his feet and heads over, knowing that Lieberman will stop his attempts at moving as soon as he gets close.

He hunkers down. Lieberman looks at him with tension in his face, his eyes blue with a restrained plea within them. When Frank’s gaze drops to the softly swelling dick between his legs, David jumps slightly against his bonds.

Frank raises his hand and reaches out, running his fingertips along the swollen cock. “Shit,” he says, meeting David’s eyes again. “You really _do_ need it.”

All the air leaves Lieberman’s lungs in a gasp that tells Frank he was holding his breath. A single droplet of piss squeezes out and lingers at the tip of his dick.

Frank makes an assessing noise in the back of his throat and he pushes the pad of his thumb against the slit, coating it with the soft, wet shame Lieberman can’t help but push onto his skin.

“S-stop.” 

Frank looks up and sees a change in the man before him. David has flushed all the way up to his ears, his damp hair is frizzing from the sweat baking off of him and his blue eyes are no longer just pleading, but wide. “Please stop it.”

Frank grunts and rocks back on his heels, putting space between them. The moment he stops touching Lieberman, the guy seems to relax; even though the urge is strong, he’s not quite at breaking point yet.

“Got another hour in you?” Frank asks him.

He sees the anger stir, sees the long fingered hands close over the arms of the chair. He sees Lieberman’s tight press of his lips turning them white. 

He chuckles. “What  _have_ you got in you? Thirty minutes? Quarter of an hour?”

“You’re gonna regret this,” Lieberman tells him. _Mm, sure._

“I thought you would have _some_  basic idea of how to trust people.” _Oh no. No._

“I just- just let me out of this fucking chair!"

Frank looks at him for a long couple of minutes. Lieberman has flushed down to his chest now, he’s breathing hard and it’s hard to deny the immense piss erection he has going on between his legs.

On impulse, Frank gets up. He pulls the flick knife out of his pocket and cuts the man’s ankles free, then one arm, then (with the first arm in a lock), the other. He grabs the second arm the moment David tries to stretch it out and lets it join its pair behind David’s back.

“Up,” he says into David’s ear.

The man gets up, ungainly and with the stagger of limbs that have been pinned in one place for too long. Frank kicks the chair out of the way once Lieberman’s on his feet and positions himself right at the man’s back, bending him over just enough to threaten pain.

“Come on,” Frank instructs. “Bathroom.”

With almost a giddy looseness in his limbs, David starts to crouch-walk towards the bathroom. He’s still hot with the effort of holding off and the heat bakes through his skin.

When they reach the door, Frank turns David slightly and aims a kick at it. Then they’re in. He steers Lieberman towards the one working urinal.

“Piss,” he says.

“Ow,” says Lieberman, as Frank squeezes his wrists, and, “I can’t,” as Frank nudges him forwards.

Exhaling tightly through his nose, Frank uses his chin to push aside Lieberman’s hair and speaks directly into his ear. “Then I guess you’ll have to go back to the chair and hold it in until I drain it out.”

That promise sends a shiver over Lieberman’s skin. He stumbles a little and hangs his head down, seemingly fighting an inward battle. After a moment, he speaks, and his throat is thick. “Okay.” 

He sniffs. “But I gotta hold it.”

Frank thinks _great point, genius_ and hums an agreement into Lieberman’s ear. “Wouldn’t want to piss all over your shoes, now, would you?”

“No,” Lieberman says, no longer fighting him on the mockery. 

Frank reshuffles his grip on the man’s wrists and tucks his thumb around one while wrapping his fingers around the other. He pushes Lieberman as close to the urinal as he needs to be, the line of his body outlining Lieberman’s. Then, he runs the palm of the hand he just freed down Lieberman’s stomach, over the fluff covering his lower belly, and hooks his fingers beneath the man's girthy, swollen cock.

“I'll handle that,” he murmurs into Lieberman’s ear.

Lieberman starts to shake and tests the hold Frank has on his wrists, but Frank’s spent far longer in the gym than David has and the lankier man has no counterbalance on him. 

When Lieberman realises he’s trapped, the shakes ripple through his body. Frank closes his fingers over the man’s cock and Lieberman lets out a thin little moan that is both horror and longing need.

“You want this,” Frank says. He starts to stroke him, his fingers lightly running over the soft pliable skin. “Let it go, Lieberman. Go take a piss, 'fore you burst.”

David’s breath is coming through ragged now and even though he tries to hold back, little drips make their way past him and Frank lets them fall into the urinal. “That’s it. C’mon, David. This is what you want. What you need.”

Lieberman moans again and Frank feels the moment he lets go, his dick jumping in Frank’s hand as it spurts water into the bowl in strong, jumpy lines. Still, the guy’s not stopping with his attempts at holding back and on each jerk to a stop, David hisses in pain. 

Frank wraps his hand around the dripping tip of David’s dick, curling his palm and stroking back to coat the rest of him. “Yeah, Lieberman,” he says, “You’re so fucking wet.”

David lets out a series of gasps and piss follows them, aim all over the fucking place because he’s so hard. He’s sagging back against Frank by now, doing nothing to fight the hold around his wrists. Frank lowers his head and bites him at the place where his neck joins his shoulder.

That gets him another painful noise, David tipping his head back, and finally, finally, he properly pisses. A long stream of water batters the porcelain urinal as Frank works his shoulder with his lips and his teeth, until there’s nothing but a few latent drops left.

David is spent, utterly spent, but Frank is not done. He pivots the man around, holding his wrists over his head as he presses him back into the bathroom wall. He leans down and licks the sweat from David’s torso in long, flat lines, feeling the swell of his own arousal push at his pants more and more with every passing second.

He dips lower, and - really, the wrist hold is just for show now, both of them sagging down to shoulder level as Frank reaches David’s navel. He laps at the drops that reached there - that spat back from the wall or from the mist that jerked from David’s dick. Said dick twitches as he does that and he can feel David’s eyes - moments ago too relief-hazed to see anything at all - boring into his skull.

Frank looks up, running his tongue over his lips. When David says nothing, he goes down to one knee and with his free hand presses David’s cock up against his abdomen. He leans in, now only loosely holding the two of David’s wrists between his fingers as they hang down, and licks up the flat of David’s cock, indulging in the shudders that emanate from the man.

He noses aside the dick and presses his lips to the faintly damp hair that coats David’s naval, then moves to the swell of David’s thighs and laps at the drops that landed there.

Frank’s hard, really hard. It’s too much to keep comfortably in his jeans anymore, so he unbuttons them with his free hand and takes himself out, unable to avoid stroking himself once, twice. He peaks up at David, who looks totally coked out, and smiles.

“Frank-“

Nudging his nose against David’s dick, less than an inch away from the mix of piss and pre-cum that currently surrounds the head, Frank meets his eyes again.

When he doesn’t continue, Frank pokes his tongue into the slit at the very tip. David tips his head back until it hits the wall and swears as Frank encases the head in his spit and his mouth.

He reaches down and takes hold of his own erection as he attends to David’s, taking him as deeply as he can go and revelling in the noises it produces from David’s buzzed, broken voice.

“Frank-“ is all he appears to be able to say. That and _fuck._

Frank lets go of David’s wrists at last and surrounds the base of the man's cock with his hand, circling it and stroking with every movement of his tongue, his lips, his throat. 

Lieberman’s close. He can feel it. He can also feel the stirrings of old tension, of a reluctance to stay present and a need to pull away. Instead, Frank grabs David’s ass and forces him into the back of his throat, fucking him there until David squirms and shouts, murmuring pleading words as his come fills Frank’s throat.

It’s so hot to witness that Frank comes then and there, spilling wetly onto the floor between them without a hand on him. He arches and sucks hard on Lieberman’s cock, squeezing his ass like a vice, like a promise. When he's done, he finally pulls off, brushing his lips to the red, swollen head in front of him.

Lieberman is halfway down the wall with his eyes rapt on Frank and his legs struggling to support him. When he sees Frank is done, he lets himself go and slides down onto the floor.

Frank looks at him: sated in more ways than one and spread eagle like a whore after her tenth fuck of the day. He tucks himself back in his pants and puts his hand on Lieberman’s knee, watching the guy watch him.

“Was that-“ Lieberman is still coming down from it; still trying to remember how to breathe. His dick twitches like an aftershock. “Was that, part of it?”

Frank can taste the juice of David’s pre-come on his lips, the sour remnants of real come in his throat and the tang of piss on his tongue. He finds himself wanting to do it all over again.

“You,” he says, “Are a fucked up kind of piss-shy.”

David blinks at him. He’s rubbing his wrists, making no effort whatsoever to cover himself. Well, he hadn’t before either. “That’s what you think?" He runs a hand through his hair, making some attempt to tame it. "I mean, I thought you just seemed to like that kind of guy.”

Frank stares back. A spark of doubt, then anger, flares in his gut, but it’s tempered by a small glint of admiration.

As he sees Frank get it, David smiles wide. He pats Frank’s hand. “I don’t know about you, man, but I gotta have a shower. And, uh, something to eat."

"Fuck you," Frank says. He buttons his pants back up and gets to his feet. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he turns to leave. “Leftovers’re in the fridge."


End file.
